


Blood, Ash, and Angel Wings

by touchyourwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchyourwings/pseuds/touchyourwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't consider himself an illogical person. Sure, his first few years in the pit, his trademark stubbornness kept him somewhat hopeful that he'd get out eventually. After 32 years, even he had to admit when he'd been beaten. This was where he was going to stay for the rest of eternity. At least, until he turned into a Demon and managed to claw his way topside where he'd hopefully be killed by a hunter before hurting anyone. </p><p>Apparently, not everyone agreed with him on that point. </p><p>Dean Winchester, Demon in training. Even if someone did manage to make it the inner circle of Hell that Dean spent his years in, when they saw the crimes he had committed and what he was turning into, they would turn right back around and leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Changes

Finally done after a long day of work.

Dean chuckled softly. Day of work, like he was just some ordinary Joe coming home from the mechanic shop, looking forward to putting his feet up while he watched some shitty TV and sipped a cold one. Man, but did he miss having a beer at the end of the day. Kind of weird, when you think about it, Hell not having any beer. Wasn't alcohol supposed to be a sin? So wouldn't they have some down here, in the main event of glorified sinning? Except, now that he thought about it, Jesus did turn water to wine at one point. Maybe it wasn't a sin after all. Figures. 

Dean ran a hand through his hair, letting his wandering thoughts fade into a buzzing at the back of his mind. A long day. Damn, but was it long. He looked down at his hands, the thick, tough skin streaked with drying blood, the nails blackened and chipped by an age of scraping at flesh and bone. The hands of a monster in the making. Dean closed his eyes, and let the thought settle. He was a monster now. He had become a monster as soon as he had gotten off that rack.

His weakness had resulted in his hands becoming instruments of torture for souls like him.

The twinge of self hatred he felt was just as strong as it had been two years ago. Hell, it had been strong before he died, and now he spent his afterlife proving himself right. If only he had been stronger. If only he had been as strong as Dad. Dad had been right about him. The only thing he was good for was protecting Sammy, and now, he was failing at that. His one job. His one assignment. 

"Man, am I the ultimate fuck-up or what?" he whispered to the empty hallway, lowering his head to rest on his chest and staring blankly at the black stone floor he sat upon. He knew, from decades of desperate searching and staring, that around him the rest of the hallway was lined in the same black stone, dark and gritty and caked with eons of blood. Small windows lined both sides of the hallway, some with dirty and desperate faces pressed against them, opening their mouths wide in a screeching anguish that Dean had long since learned to tune out. The rest of the windows were empty, but Dean knew that inside was a soul who had given up all hope, who no longer pressed themselves to the windows in hopes of being heard.

Souls who finally realized that no one was ever coming to save them. Eternity never felt so real as it did in Hell.

Dean remembered when he had truly, finally reached that realization. From the moment he was dragged to Hell, the pain of the gashes on his physical body following him to the afterlife, he had told himself that this was forever. No one is going to save you, the voice in his head whispered, no one is going to save you. A mantra to silence hope. Somehow, somewhere, a part of him didn't believe that. Something akin to hope, but more likely just plain stubbornness, valiantly struggled in the back of his mind, fighting the disconsolate mantra. Day after day, thrown up on the rack, his body torn and twisted and sliced at in ways that he hadn't imagined possible, with no promise of unconsciousness to bring respite from the pain, the little part of him that hoped had slowly been stabbed at. Every day, asked the same question: 

"Are you ready to take up the knife now, Dean?"

Alastair's nasally voice, coated in slime and revolting delight at the spectacle of Dean Winchester's pain, whispered into his ear at the end of each session. The small bit of hope inside Dean drowned in that repugnant voice eventually. Nothing could stand up to the depravity of the Demon of pain for long. 

 _Except that Dad did_ , his self-hatred whispered to him.  _Dad was on that rack for seventy more years than you, and he never said yes. You could barely last thirty. You were always a pathetic excuse for a son._

Dean closed his eyes, finding barely any more darkness without sight. He knew he was pathetic. He knew he was worthless. Thirty years of pain, thirty years of his body being torn to shreds in the most violent, creative ways. Thirty years he had stayed strong. Thirty years, and then he caved, like the worthless soul he knew he was.

After he had said yes, any hope there had ever been for Dean Winchester to be worth something had vanished. He had become the thing he had hunted his entire life. With a knife in his hand, he had faced the same rack his body had been bound to, and sliced at souls just like he had been sliced at. With every soul he mangled and destroyed, Alastair standing behind him as he trained his new apprentice, something died a little in his chest. A malignant taint had started in his heart the moment he had taken up the knife, and slowly, it spread through him, fueled by every soul he tore down.

He was slowly turning into a Demon.

Dean wondered dimly if his eyes were already black. He could feel the taint spreading from his heart. His chest had turned cold and stony, hard to the touch. Maybe that's what the blackness in the eyes was all about. Maybe it was the sickness pumping through his soul, showing through his eyes. The eyes are the window to the soul, right? 

Alastair never let him forget what he was turning into. "You'll be a part of our ranks in no time, Dean!" He grinned at his student, delighted at his misery. "I've never had a student pick up the trade so quickly. Almost like you were made for the job, hm?" Dean would retort defensively, and Alastair would punish him for his defiance. 

"Now, now, Dean. You and I are going to be working together for a long time. Shouldn't we get along?" Sickly grin, pure enjoyment at Dean's hopelessness. Dean could never turn back from the decision he had made. Alastair and he both knew it. 

Dean lifted his head and opened his eyes. The walls danced with the sick, pale yellow light of the torches on the wall. Even Hell's fire looked infected. Light to shine on a place reveling in pain and anguish and the destruction of all hope. When Dean had lived in the cells at night, the light hadn't reached his resting place. He only saw it when he had his face pressed to the small opening, screaming for someone to help him. The only creatures that paced these halls, he had learned, were not the kind of creatures you wanted to hear your cries. The things that paced the halls knew of Dean Winchester, and many gleefully showed him just how much he was despised in the pit. Alastair had stopped bringing him to the cells the day that he had said yes.

"You're one of us now, boy," Alastair had sneered, "No need keeping you locked up like an actual person."

The cells hadn't been to prevent escape. No, escape wasn't a worry here, Dean had learned. His first few nights out of the cells, he had walked down the hallways, searching for some kind of exit, a hallway that branched off in a different direction, anything different from what he had spent thirty years staring at. The hallways never ended, never changed. Each one turned into another exactly like it, dirty black stone and pale light, blood and screaming, anguish and monotony. After a while, a week, maybe more, Dean had stopped walking anywhere. Every night, at the end of another day of torture, he sat against the wall between two of the cells and slept with his head to his chest. His sleep, if it could even be called that, was merely spats of unconsciousness where he faced the souls he had tortured in his dreams, their anger and disgust fueled by his own hatred of himself. Even in his sleep, he heard Alastair's voice dripping with nauseating pleasure, laughing and saying, "Dean, my boy, you are by far the best student I've ever had. You're a natural at this! I only wish I had gotten you sooner."

He'd awaken from his nightmares, hands sweating, mixing dirt and blood and tears, and then he would be at it again.

He wondered if it would be a relief if he could go insane from this.  _But what if that's it, Dean? What if that's how you go full Demon?_

That would make sense. Choose between insanity and the knowledge that he'd be carrying out even greater evils, or to try and retain sanity and continue the evils he already performed daily. Every day for eternity, he would have to make this decision. 

Tears welled up in Dean's eyes, his brow furrowed in wretched agony. No. He wasn't going to cry. Not tonight. He was going to sleep. Angrily, he brushed at his eyes, the wetness saturating the blackness of his hands. The torch above him flickered weakly, unyielding in its lack of warmth. Staring numbly at the ground between his bent legs, Dean reached a finger down and lightly traced a line through the dirt of the stone floor. He wondered what Sammy was up to. He wrote out 'Sammy' in the dirt in front of him and focused on it, shutting out the pale light and the walls around him, hardening his resolve. Sammy wasn't here. That's all that mattered. He hadn't failed in that regard. In at least one thing, he had succeeded. Sam was not in the pit. He repeated the thought in his head until he drifted into a disturbed sleep, hand resting on his younger brother's name.

 

_The walls around him are white. He looks around, confused. White? When... How did he get here?_

_The edges of his vision are fuzzy. His mind feels as though it's being pulled in two different directions._

_For a second, the white walls around him fade, the torture room and the soul he had mutilated yesterday manifesting in front of him, the anguished soul screaming at him, her jaw gone and tongue hanging loosely against her tear-streaked neck. Her guts spill from the opening in her stomach. Each finger, bent backwards, touching the back of the hand, every joint broken. A familiar scene in his dreams._

_Then, with an almost calming sensation, Dean feels himself being lifted. He looks around, his vision filled with hazy whiteness. The soul is gone, replaced by white emptiness all around him._

_**Dean.**  
_

_He looks around, an unfamiliar emotion blooming in his chest at the sound of his name. His name as spoken by someone other than Alastair. A sound he hadn't heard in years. He sees no owner of the voice. Nothing fills his vision except hazily defined white walls. Slowly, the walls become more clearly defined, and the glaring whiteness of the walls no longer blinds him. He is standing at the end of a white room._

_A figure stands at the other end of the room._

_**Dean. Do not fear. You will be saved.** _

_Dean tries to see the face of the figure, but there is no definition or clarity around it. He steps closer to the figure. "Who are you?" he calls out, his voice sounding far away, as if he were listening to himself from the end of a long hallway._

_**Who I am is unimportant. Just know that I am going to save you.**  
_

_Dean laughs flatly. "Sorry, pal, nothing short of divine intervention could save me now."_

_**I know. I will be there soon.** _

_Dean takes another step towards the figure, head tilted, eyes narrowed in derision. "What, you are divine intervention? You're kidding me, right? Is this some kind of joke Alastair decided to bother my sleep with?"_

_**He will also be dealt with in due time.** _

_Dean hears the voice's calm waver slightly. Was it angry?_

_**You will be saved, Dean Winchester. The righteous man has spilled blood in Hell, and now it is time for you to leave.** _

_Dean steps forward, the word 'righteous' seeking something familiar to grab onto his mind. Finding nothing, he reaches out to touch the figure. Placing a hand on what appears to be an arm, he feels a jolt of electricity and warmth and something he can't name rush through his body. "What... what are you?"_

_The light fades, the walls around him begin to disintegrate, and before his vision goes dark, he catches a glimpse of a face._

_**I will be there soon.** _

_Dean's sight shrinks, removing the glowing figure from his line of sight, tunnel vision slowly collapsing in on itself, and he feels a wave of something from the figure before he looses his vision completely. As the white walls disappear into nothingness around him, he feels determination radiating from the being in front of him, and then he sees no more._

 

* * *

* * *

 

The wind blew in through the small opening in the hotel room window. Shadows danced across the bodies of two powerful beings, both wrapped up in the blissful aftermath of the high. A small, well-defined face with a pointed nose pulled through a blanket of thick brown hair. She gazed at the other being in the bed for a moment. No anger or love underlined the stare. She was there to watch him. He was there to obey.

Satisfied that her prey was still sluggish after the last dose of power he had sucked from her slit wrists, she rolled over onto her side, facing away from the captive. Smiling smugly, Ruby closed her eyes.

The night air turned colder, and the hotel room chilled slowly. Ruby breathed calmly, eyes relaxed in the release of rest and unconsciousness. The blanket covering the king sized bed stirred slightly on the left. A pillow lifted, followed by a small groan. The pillow was slowly picked up and set at the end of the bed. A head stuck out, eyes squinted in sleep and confusion. The blanket covering the being was pushed down, a muscled chest and the beginnings of strong thighs showing just above the blanket. Sam Winchester blinked the sleep from his eyes and yawned quietly. Glancing down to his right, he briefly wondered why Demons needed to sleep when wearing a human meatsuit. Demons possessing humans showed no discomfort at typical wounds or general physical restrictions. Curious to think that something so basic as sleep would affect those long dead.

Sam eased off the bed quietly, feeling obligated to give her the rest she deserved after granting him his fill for the night. Even a Demon had to feel the draining energy that accompanied the loss of blood, and Sam had eagerly taken much from her that night. With the training of a lifetime of hunting the supernatural, Sam stood up and walked across the room without a single sound. He looked around for his clothes, eyes trailing over the empty beer bottles and trash from the nearest burger joint littered on the table. He spotted a black t-shirt and carefully extracted it from the pile of trash. 

After finding the rest of his clothes and quietly slipping them on, Sam stepped into his shoes and walked outside. From underneath the awning, the faint twinkle of stars were nowhere to be seen. A gravel parking lot littered with old vehicles shone under the moon. Sam took it all in numbly, sweeping the parking lot for potential threats out of habit. His body felt like it was on autopilot. His mind was elsewhere, traipsing alongside his heart, far away from him. 

He pulled out a cigarette, thinking for a second what Dean would say if he saw that his little brother had picked up smoking. Dean would probably tell him how unhealthy that was for a hunter who had to run all the time, and Sam would probably respond with a comment about Dean's cheeseburger addiction. The corner of Sam's lips tugged slightly up, an almost-smile at the habits of his big brother. At least, what had been his habits. Not anymore.

The familiar heavy emptiness settled back in his stomach. Dean was gone. He was gone, and he was in Hell. He had spent so much time taking care of his little brother, selling his soul to bring him back to life, and Sam couldn't even save him now. He couldn't do a damn thing. His eyes closed in familiar bitterness. A drag of the cigarette in his hand brought his mind back to the present. Grey-blue smoke drifted lazily out of his mouth, twirling up towards the full moon, and disappearing into the air. Sam stared upwards at the sky, a sense of camaraderie with the bright and lonely moon filling a bit of him. The empty feeling soon crept upon him again, and he wished for the thousandth time that day for his feelings to be easily put into words. His wish was not granted, and he finished smoking his cigarette with his mind swirling with confusion and pain.

From the window of the hotel room behind him, a figure watched carefully.

She would not let him go back to what he had been.

Ruby was too damn close to let him go.

Turning to a small cup filled with a dark liquid, she whispered softly, "He is still mourning, but it distracts him from thinking too much." The cup's liquid bubbled and spun, a quiet murmuring rising up. Ruby turned her ear to listen. "Angels? At the gates? Will they get through?" She felt a small panic creep, and squashed it immediately. She listened to the response, and smiled slightly. "Yeah, don't worry. He's mine completely. At this point, he physically couldn't live without me. It's going very well." The liquid bubbled again, and Ruby frowned. "I doubt that would change the plans very much. Besides, what are the chances an Angel could get to him? He's in the center. Even an Angel would be crazy to attempt that." She watched the liquid swirl and frowned. "How close? How did this happen?"

Outside, Sam tossed his cigarette. Ruby whispered to the cup and quickly pushed it into the dresser in front of her and whisked back into bed with a speed much beyond what this meatsuit would normally be capable of. She felt Sam settle back into bed beside her, and listened as his troubled heart slowly faded into a normal pace as he sunk into a troubled sleep. Everything was going so well. It was so close to reaching its end and she could barely contain herself.

Her father was almost home. 

 

 

 

 


	2. Over the Hills and Far Away

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since Dean had the dream. Two weeks of hazy memories of a strong voice and white walls, quickly dismissed each time one floated to the forefront of his mind. He had woken up the following morning with trepidation, waiting for someone to drop the punchline on this bizarre joke. No one said anything. Alastair's near constant presence was suddenly lifted, and Dean found himself walking into a room empty of supervision every morning. He was checked on by Demons he had never seen before, but not once did they speak to him. Dean had tried asking a few of them where their boss was, but the Demons ignored him as if he hadn't even spoken. Typical. They flitted in and out of the room, eyeing him briefly with trademark Demon disdain, then disappeared again. Maybe it was only strange to him because his dream had shaken him up. There had been times where Alastair had left him alone this long before, right? He had other things to do besides babysit Dean. 

After four days, Alastair had returned briefly. Dean had been surveying his table full of tools, preparing himself for the day, when he heard Alastair's unmistakably slimy voice.

"Holding the fort down, I see. I guess I don't even need to watch you anymore." Alastair's voice dripped with disdain as usual, but today, there was something different. His voice was strained ever so slightly. Was that worry Dean heard in his voice?

Dean tossed the idea around his head and quickly dismissed it as unrealistic. Alastair worried about nothing down here. Here in the pit, he reigned supreme, with his knives and his tools and his cold eyes. Alastair stared pointedly at him, searching for something, an answer to some unspoken question. Dean looked back, an eyebrow raised slightly, and conveyed his annoyance with the typical Dean-should-probably-keep-his-mouth-shut-but-will-not grace, "Is that all? You look like you need something." It was obvious what kind of response that attitude would earn Dean in the way of lash-back, but he couldn't be bothered to give a damn at the moment. He was on edge and had been since the dream. Alastair's unexplained absence had done nothing to soothe Dean's nerves, and his behavior now only spurred more questions.

In an abnormal display of distraction, Alastair didn't even seem to hear him.

"I've got something to do." Alastair announced to no one particular, his gaze drifting across the room. "I'll be back soon. You be a good little dog, yeah?" His eyes centered in on Dean's face. Dean narrowed his eyes, bright green flaring in anger. Alastair chuckled. "Oh, Dean, your defiance is just... so cute. I find it endearing. Really, I do." Dean opened his mouth to retort but was stymied by a single motion from Alastair's hand, freezing his vocal cords. Dean opened his mouth and reached his hands to his throat tentatively. Alastair smiled amiably and continued. "As much as I'd love to stay and banter with you Dean, I've got things to do. Stay here and try not to drown in your misery while I'm gone. I'd miss our little talks." Alastair flicked his hand again, releasing his hold over Dean's vocal cords. Dean rubbed his throat and coughed, growling, "Okay, asshole. Go do whatever it is you Demons do in your spare time, and I'll keep your room nice and tidy. Now if you're done bugging me, I've work to do."

Alastair said nothing, instead, turning around and disappearing without a sound. Dean stared at the spot his tormentor had stood in, his mind searching for a reason behind Alastair's indifference. So he hadn't been imagining it. Something was going on. Something big enough to have Alastair distracted. But what the Hell could that be? What would distract Alastair so much that he wouldn't take a moment to torture his favorite subject?

Days passed without so much as a whisper from Alastair, and Dean wracked his mind for an answer to the situation quietly unfolding outside his little prison. The Demons that appeared to watch him never stayed long enough for Dean to analyze their moods. All he had to go one was one weird, rapidly fading memory of a dream and Alastair's brief visit. Not much to go on at all, as it turned out. Dean's frustration grew quickly. Had he always been this easily annoyed? So quick to anger? Dean assumed he had been, but 32 long years and a stone-hard chest had weakened the details of his memories topside. Just like Ruby had said. He was forgetting what it had been like to be human.

A week after Alastair's visit, Dean stepped into the torture room numbly, muscle memory guiding his steps. Eyes to the gritty floor, Dean tried to focus on steeling his mind for the day ahead. His chest felt cold, colder than it had ever been before. Mentally shaking off the useless thought, Dean huffed a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked over at the empty rack beside the blood-stained table where his tools sat.

Empty?

Empty rack?

How...?

He stared for awhile, wondering what evil game Alastair had started, his body immediately on high alert. His eyes darted across the room, looking for something out of the ordinary, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His hunter's instinct settled in comfortably, control over his hands and senses complete. He widened his stance, arms tingling, fists closed in preparation. It had been a long time since Alastair had pulled something like this.

Dean waited, a sharp razor of excitement and fear cutting through his thoughts, but nothing attacked him. No figures spun out of the walls with claws and knives. Nothing grew out of the floor to slice at his calves and bite at his waist. Something entirely new, then? This definitely wasn't part of the normal package. No soul, no torture, no Demons. He frowned, licking his lips absently, and relaxed his arms. A gentle wind rustled his jacket. 

Wind?

What the Hell?

He spun around, body ready for the threat.

A man stood before him, covered by a tan trenchcoat. His bright blue eyes were heavily shadowed by his brow, dark brown hair tousled. The clean white shirt and blue tie under the trenchcoat was ridiculously out of place in a room characterized by caked blood and grime-covered stone. The man looked around the room, unconcerned with his completely illogical placement, and settled his gaze on Dean, eyes narrowed in a face lacking easily read emotional expression. 

Dean frowned. Not that he had any idea what to expect, but whatever this was, it was on the opposite end of the spectrum of his expectations. His mouth opened slightly as he gathered his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he decided it was best to go into this with the same defensiveness as he would with any other threat. "So who are you?" He called out, keeping his arms raised protectively. The man in the strange get-up stared at him wordlessly. Dean was struck by the irritating thought that he was definitely missing something here. He licked his lips and continued anyway. "I thought I'd seen all the Demons in this circle. Are you newly promoted? Come to prove to your boss that you can wing it here in the center by beating on little me?" Dean glared at this weird little man with his bizarre outfit. A small voice in his head told him that it didn't really seem like a bad idea to lower his defenses. Dean shushed the voice angrily. No, little voice, that is a ridiculous notion and you will be quiet.

The man tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. "I am not a Demon, Dean."

The voice.

It was the voice from his dream.

No... no. That made next to no sense. Dream voices don't become real voices. Was he dreaming? Maybe he had completely gone insane? Or maybe this was all a part of some strange joke Alastair was pulling. There was no information for Dean to go off of, and he was starting to feel like a kid whose friends were telling an inside joke and while everyone was laughing, he was left in confusion. Maybe the best decision was to just charge on with what he had started. He mustered his serious voice. "Oh, okay, so you're having an identity crisis. Sorry buddy, but if you're employed by Hell, you're basically a Demon. Hate to break it to you, but it's best you come to terms with it right now." Dean's eyes crinkled at the corners in sarcastic humor. 

The man looked at him intensely. "You are Dean Winchester."

Dean replied, slowly, "Yes... I am. Is there something I can help you with?"

The man's head straightened, something close to a smile spreading on his face. "I am here to rescue you." 

He couldn't help it. He laughed. God help him, he laughed and laughed with such a fervor that he couldn't believe himself. His belly ached and his throat itched, but goddamn, was this the funniest thing that had happened to him down here or what? Saved. Rescued. Alastair had reached a whole different level of depravity with this joke. He would have to give him a pat on the back for this one. "So Alastair set you up to this, huh? You're here to rescue me. Cute." Dean shook his head and bit his lip, chuckling. "Were you going to take me out of the circle and wait for me to actually start believing it and then drag me back here?" Dean snorted derisively, pushing his hand back through his hair. At least things were starting to make a little more sense now.

The man's bright blue eyes continued their unwavering, patient stare. Dean started to feel distinctly uncomfortable maintaining eye contact. This strange being's eyes resembled the new souls Dean would find on his rack, still shining with light and determination, untainted by the unavoidable hopelessness and bitter numbness Hell instilled. A pang of guilt ran through Dean, memories of his first few victims trailing through his mind. Dean lowered his head, feeling strangely uncomfortable with the eye contact, as though his eyes would ruin the light this stranger had. 

He heard footsteps, then his chin was lifted upwards by a gentle hand. He met the stranger's eyes with reluctance, silently chastising himself at his lack of resistance, the voice of the hunter in his head screaming at him to step back and get on the defensive again. The hooded blue eyes met his own, and he stared back defiantly, feeling like he was being evaluated. In a valiant attempt to return Dean to a sane state, the hunter part of Dean flashed numerous memories of monsters coming this close to him through the forefront of his mind. None of those situations had gone terribly well. Dean agreed that logically, he should step back. With that in mind, he continued to do absolutely nothing about it.

"Who are you?" Dean said in a hushed tone. Good job, Dean. Real threatening.

"I am Castiel." The stranger didn't blink, his gravelly voice matter-of-fact, his tousled hair slowly drifting over his eyes. Dean felt a sudden and completely illogical compulsion to pull the hair back from those bright eyes. He reached forward and brushed aside the hair. Castiel's eyes widened ever so slightly and his body went still. The thought that the innocence in those eyes shouldn't be covered here drifted across Dean's mind briefly before being grabbed by the hunter still sulking around in his subconscious and slammed repeatedly into the wall of his thoughts.

"You're Castiel. Okay." Dean was quickly engulfed by a sense of awkwardness and confusion at his completely random display of tenderness, and stepped back, pulling his arms down to his side. "So what the Hell do you want from me?" He was in Hell, damn it. He had to stay focused, alert, and wary. Touching some man in a trench coat he had never seen before was way, way beyond wary. If anything, it confirmed the theory that he had gone completely nuts. 

"I want you to come with me. We're going to have to go a different way than I came in. Alastair will have gotten past the diversion I left for him." Castiel's eyes narrowed again as he looked around the room. His gaze flew over the table littered with tools of pain, lingered briefly on the rack, then swept over to a small black door at the back of the room. "Where does that lead?" 

Dean's mouth dropped slightly open. "Wait, wait! Hold on! I'm going to need some answers before anyth-"

The protest was cut short by Castiel's face appearing barely an inch in front of his own, sporting a very serious expression. 

"We don't have time, Dean! Alastair is coming back right now and I need to get you out of here. I will explain everything later. Now, you need to tell me where that door goes immediately." The urgency in his voice seemed real enough. Gagging the hunter's voice in his head yelling at him to stop being so damn stupid, he replied "It goes back to the cells. The cells they keep the souls in. But I've looked everywhere; there's no way out of there." Wow. He was just being all sorts of illogical lately, wasn't he?

Castiel nodded. "There is a way, but not one that you would have seen. Let's go." Was that an insult? Dean frowned slightly, feeling a bit disgruntled that this complete stranger was doubting his abilities. Castiel brushed past him, trench coat fluttering around his legs. He turned to follow him, asking himself what the Hell he was doing, and started to walk. This was almost definitely going to bite him in the ass later. What kind of name was Castiel, anyways?

Castiel raised left hand in front of him and the black door swung open without a sound. The hunter in Dean's head muttered about this Castiel guy having Demon powers. Dean pushed the little guy into a dark room and locked the door, ignoring his cries of how completely insane he was acting. Rushing through the doorway, the black door slid back into place quietly behind Dean. Castiel looked around, his face impassive. Glancing back at Dean, he asked, "This is where they kept you?" Dean nodded, watching Castiel's eyes flare slightly. "Yeah, top notch place, isn't it? Kind of like staying in the Hilton!" Dean grinned. Castiel's brow furrowed a bit. What, did this guy have no sense of humor? Maybe that wasn't so much of a stretch, actually. He _was_ wearing a tie in Hell. 

They walked on in silence, Castiel's coat flapping behind him, Dean watching his strange companion's face closely. It seemed his resting expression was one of intense determination, and otherwise, no emotion showed. Occasionally, the blue eyes would dart in Dean's direction, catch his gaze and stare intently for a second, then turn back forward. Maybe that face wasn't showing emotion, but when his eyes turned Dean's way, he felt he could almost gather what this guy was thinking from them. 

After ten minutes of a brisk pace, Castiel stopped abruptly in front of one of the empty cells. He ducked inside, looking around searchingly. Dean stepped next to him, glancing inside the cell and seeing absolutely nothing different from any of the other cells. He turned to Castiel questioningly. "Hey, dude, you looking for something in particular or are we just sight seeing?"

Castiel stepped inside the cell, tracing his hand along the dark, dirty stones that made up the wall. "I'm looking for an Enochian sigil. You wouldn't be able to see it but I can." Dean's eyebrows raised. Okay, Enochian. Whatever that was. He leaned against the wall next to the door, arms crossed, brow furrowed slightly. Castiel's hands brushed along each stone, and Dean began to feel more and more like he had made an awful mistake following this guy. 

"Enochian is the language of Heaven. You wouldn't be able to see it because you're not an Angel." Castiel continued casually. A second later and Castiel found the collar of his shirt being met with a tight grip and Dean's angry visage enveloping his entire view.

"Don't bullshit me, man." He growled lowly, green eyes filled with heated warning. Castiel's face remained impassive. In a low, quiet voice, he responded "I am not lying to you, Dean. Think. What other being could break through the gates of Hell and reach the innermost circle to find you?"

Dean's building anger faltered a bit. It was true that Bobby and he had spent a long time confirming that no supernatural being they knew of had the power to stop a contract from Hell. But Angels? That was a stretch. Even if Angels were real, and that was a big 'if', they wouldn't be skipping through the fires of Hell just to grab his sorry hide. Sure, he had saved some people when he was topside, but now he was apprentice to one of the worst Demons in existence and slowly turning into one himself. No way this guy was an Angel. 

The blue eyes flashed in annoyance. Annoyance? Seriously?

A sudden spurt of anger, and Dean had Castiel against the cell wall, his left arm pinning him down at his chest. Castiel didn't struggle, but stared at him with something bordering on pity. The anger broiling in Dean flared bright and heavy at that. "Don't fucking lie to me, Cas. I don't know what you want with me, but I swear that if you screw me over in any way, I will make you regret it." Dean's voice was quiet and low, an animal growl in Castiel's ear. His face was hard, distrust etched in every line of his glare. "You seem like you want to help me. Great. I need all the help I can get. But don't tell me you're an Angel. No Angel would want to even come near me, let alone save me. I'm a monster. Angels wouldn't help monsters. That's just the way it is." The green of Dean's eyes flared brightly against Castiel's blue. They stared at each other in silence. Castiel's breath stayed even and calm, the air brushing against Dean's cheek slightly.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Dean. I promise that I won't lie to you, now or in the future." Castiel's voice was raspy and quiet. "I was sent here to save you, and I intend to do that."

Dean stared him down for a long time. Seconds ticked by with painful slowness, and Dean weighed his options. He could trust this man who claimed he was an Angel, which was the obvious bat-shit crazy thing to do, or he could turn around and go back to the room where he had committed the most heinous crimes of his existence. What a wonderful situation. With a sigh, Dean decided on the crazy route. Of course he decided on the crazy route. What else would he have done? He pointedly ignored the dismayed protests of his logical side.

"Okay, Cas. Angel of the Lord, yeah? I might not believe you, but I don't see much of an option for me right now. So, what's our next step?" Dean took his arm off Castiel's chest, his frame sagging slightly. The man's bright gaze settled on Dean's face softly, not tinged in any anger at Dean's violent outburst. Dean lowered his head, avoiding the forgiving look and running a hand through his hair. None of this was making any sense and Dean was getting pretty tired of it. 

"Next, we take this sigil to the next circle and then you rest." Dean pulled his head up to Castiel's eye level, raising an eyebrow in question. Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder awkwardly, as if unsure of how to communicate reassurance. "You look tired. We'll find a place where you can sleep, and I'll keep watch. First, we need to get out of this circle."

Out of the circle. Right, okay. The only way in and out of the circles of Hell was a power gifted to the Demons in charge of each circle and practically no one else. So, this 'Angel' happened to know how Demons traveled around? Great. Obviously a real smart decision he'd made here. Deciding to keep his mouth shut, he nodded tightly at his strange companion and stepped back. No point in discussing his distrust out loud. He'd let this stranger think what he wanted to think, but Dean didn't need to give him any more insight on his own train of thought than was absolutely necessary. Castiel's face showed no reaction to Dean's silence, but he still got the feeling that he knew what was going through Dean's head.

What an uncomfortable thought.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, uh, are we doing this or what? Do your sigil thing or whatever on the magic stones in front of you so we can get out of here." Castiel's eyes lingered on Dean a moment before turning back towards the wall.

"It's here. Place your hand on my shoulder. This might be uncomfortable."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sam shifted his weight in the driver's seat of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala, old leather creaking softly under him. Music played from the iPod plugged into the radio, background noise to Sam's heavy thoughts. The fleeting thought of how Dean would react to seeing the iPod flitted across Sam's mind, an amusing idea contrasting hard against the misery in his head. 

Sam and Ruby had finished up a job in Warsaw, Oklahoma, ending with Sam pulling three Demons out of their possessed victims' bodies at once without breaking a sweat. Ruby had congratulated him, smiling exuberantly, and Sam had felt a sense of dread where there should be pride as he felt the faint pulse of each person laying unconscious on the floor of the restaurant they had tracked them to. He had saved those people, and all with nearly no effort on his part. It was easy to drag these Demons back to Hell at this point. The power he had was proving to be a life saver every day. So why did he feel like he was doing something awful every time he stretched out his hand to take evil out of this world?

Ruby had noticed his lack of cheer and chided him for his irrational unhappiness. "Come on, Sam, you're saving lives! You're doing more in a single day than you could have ever done before! Why is that not enough for you?" Ruby had wrapped her arms around Sam, and Sam had chuckled weakly, smiling and soothing her worries. "You're right, Ruby," he forced out, "I'm just in a weird funk. Don't worry about me. I really am glad." He'd smiled reassuringly, exercising his puppy-dog eyes. Ruby had smiled back, content that her partner was cheering up, and that had been the end of it. Ruby had business elsewhere, and Sam was all too happy to have time on his own to sort out his thoughts. 

Ruby was right, Sam thought. What possible reason could he have to be unhappy about this? With every day, his powers grew stronger, and the stronger he became, the more Demons he could exorcise out of innocent people without hurting them. It was practically everything he had ever hoped of doing, and yet he felt as though he were committing a crime. 

The road stretched out in front of him, an endless expanse of asphalt lined with spare groupings of trees and bushes. The straightaway was hypnotic, and comforting in a way that he knew his older brother had always felt. Dean. Damn it, Dean.

His mind drifted into memories of when they were younger. Dean had seemed so overbearing at times, but at other times, Dean would smile at him mischievously and Sam would know that they were about to do something that Dad would never let them do. Dean was his idol. He could be as strict as Dad, but he never let Sam down like Dad did. Dean was always there to cook dinner, tuck him into bed, and reassure him that nothing was going to hurt him. Dean had shown him the joy of fireworks, grinning in delight as he watched his younger brother dance around with unbridled excitement, colorful flames in the air above them. Even when they were adults, Dean would always smile whenever he saw his little brother happy, content as the day they had lit those fireworks.

Sam felt a breeze brush against his neck, and something in the back of his head told him that he hadn't rolled the windows down. Glancing over to the passenger seat, Sam jumped in surprise and slammed on his brakes, swinging the steering wheel dangerously.

There was a man in the passenger seat of the Impala.

Pulling to a screeching halt, Sam pulled out his pistol and pointed it at the sandy blonde head. "Who the Hell are you? And how did you get in here?" His heart beat fast, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His mind searched for an explanation, and all it could find was that maybe this was a ghost. He hadn't heard of any ghosts on this stretch of highway, though.

The man's face was completely unconcerned, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Well hey there, Sammy, is that how you treat everyone you meet? Seems a little rude to be pointing a gun in my face before even remembering who I am." His voice was lilting and happy, underlined with the tone of someone who had a private joke that you didn't quite understand. His body language was completely relaxed, the gun pointed at him having no obvious affect on his peace of mind.

Sam tilted his head and huffed an exasperated, confused breath. "Remembering who you- Wait. You're the Trickster we ganked."

The man laughed. "There's an obvious bit of that statement that's incorrect, amigo. I'm here. The ganking thing doesn't seem to work on me."

Sam glared, anger building up quickly. "You've got about five seconds to explain what you're doing here before I fix that mistake."

"Calm down, big boy. I'm not here to hurt you. In fact, I have a proposition for you." The Trickster's eyebrows wiggled up and down, eyes alight with juvenile excitement. "And before you get your panties in a bunch, I'm not here to hurt you. Unless that's what you're into, in which case, I'm also down for that. But first, we need to talk business. Someone important to me is currently with someone important to you, so it's in both of our best interests to see them safe."

More nonsensical talk out of someone who was supposed to be dead. Sam's anger grew hotter. "Why don't you explain yourself a little more? I don't know why you seem to think you know anything about me, let alone who's important to me." The gun in Sam's hand remained steadily pointed at the Trickster's face. The intruder chuckled softly, then snapped his fingers. The gun in Sam's hand disappeared, replaced by a bouquet of fresh flowers. "Why, thank you Sam! You shouldn't have." He crooned, pulling the bouquet from Sam's hand and smelling the flowers enthusiastically. Sam's mouth dropped open. 

"What the... what did you do with my gun?" Sam whipped his head around frantically. The Trickster tilted his head until he caught Sam's gaze, pulling his face to eye level. He pointed in the direction of Sam's lap, and looking down, Sam saw his gun sitting on his leg.

"Now, before you pick up that gun again, consider for a moment that I'm obviously not concerned by it in the slightest and therefore, it most likely doesn't serve much of a defensive purpose to you in this situation." The creature grinned happily, unconcerned with Sam's obvious discomfort. "And before you even try it, I'll let you know right now your fancy Demon tricks won't affect me. I'm out of your pay grade, buddy boy." Sam's eyes flashed, but he said nothing. The Trickster put on a solemn face and continued, "So here's the deal, Sammy boy. I've got an associate of mine in pretty bad place. Probably the worst place, but that's not the point. And what would you know it, he happens to be with your brother. How bizarre, right?"

The world around Sam disappeared. This couldn't be real. Whatever insane thing was going on inside his car right now, it couldn't be real and it couldn't have anything to do with Dean. There was no way. "There's no way." He whispered.

"Ah, but see, there is a way! That way is Angels, Sam. They've busted in to the inner circle of Hell and as we speak, one of my them has Dean in tow, dragging him out as fast as he can." The jolly being's tone was matter-of-fact, as if he were reciting a grocery list. His heart in his throat, Sam tried to open his mouth to speak, but found that he couldn't sort his thoughts well enough to decide what he wanted to say. "Don't worry about responding right now, Sam, it's not really needed quite yet." He offered in a supportive tone. Sam closed his mouth and cleared his throat. Seeing that he was about to speak, the Trickster pushed on. "See, what I'm doing here is I'm telling you that I need your help. I don't want my associate to get hurt, and you want your brother back, I'm assuming. So, here's what I propose. We help each other so our respective persons of import make it back topside. Sound good?"

Sam's mouth opened and closed a few more times, words failing him. Finally, through the myriad of thoughts spinning through his mind, Sam managed to finally push something out verbally.

"Did you say... Angels?"


	3. Hots on for Nowhere

Damn, the guy wasn't joking.

Dean placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder tentatively, wondering for the tenth time if he had made an incredibly awful mistake by following him here. As his hand made contact with the clean fabric of the trenchcoat, Dean's fingers tingled slightly, as though he were brushing against a conduit of static electricity. Castiel glanced back at him, then looked back to the gray stone he had been examining.

"Hold on, Dean. This is your first time, so it might not be very comfortable." The man warned softly. Dean very briefly considered laughing at the sexual connotations, but was stymied by the sudden feeling of his stomach being pulled out of his body. His eyes widened as his vision filled with white light, then he was blinded. He was being twisted and turned and pulled in every possible direction at the same time. Right as it began to feel as though he would be torn into pieces, the feeling stopped and the blinding light disappeared, leaving Dean on the ground, dry heaving as his body readjusted to stillness.

Castiel stood impassively by him, watching his stomach spasm as Dean heaved nothingness with gutteral sounds. Finally, the sensation passed, and Dean stood up, glaring at the stoic man in his clean clothes. He reminded himself that the guy had warned him, but damn, that was definitely an understated warning.

Glancing away from Castiel, Dean focused on taking in his surroundings, and was instantly frozen into place, his mouth slightly open.

For the first time in 32 years, Dean wasn't in the inner circle of Hell.

A gray, clouded, dead sky loomed above their heads, but to Dean, it was the most beautiful horizon he had ever witnessed. Thirty-two years of black stone and low ceilings. He had forgotten what sky looked like. Underneath him, dirt and broken gray rocks littered the landscape. A few withered husks of trees peppered the ground, clinging weakly to some semblance of life. Further in the distance, a formation resembling a castle flickered like a heat hallucination. Dean strained his eyes, but found that the more he focused on seeing definitive lines, the blurrier the outline of the structure appeared. Overwhelmed by his new surroundings, Dean passed over this phenomenon with little thought. Turning back to Castiel, Dean felt a need to thank this man for taking him someone, anywhere, other than the pit that he had spent a lifetime in. Dean took a step forward, and Castiel's eyes widened ever so slightly. Maybe he thought Dean was about to attack him, and he could definitely empathize with that level of defensiveness. Smiling widely, Dean placed both of his hands on either shoulder of the man and squeezed gently. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, found himself laughing. He started laughing, and the look on Castiel's face in response just made him laugh even harder. This poor, strange man in the weird get-up did not understand him one bit. Dean tilted his head back and let out another loud bellow, then clapped his hands down onto Castiel's shoulders again.

"Thank you, man. Shit, I don't know if you're an Angel by biblical standards, but as of now, you're definitely an Angel to me." Dean chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

The Angel's eyes were very wide by this point. The blueness had reflected first confusion at Dean's outburst of laughter, then concern, then something unfamiliar to Dean. The Angel awkwardly stood under the hands of the tortured man and cleared his throat. "I am an Angel of biblical standards, Dean."

For whatever reason, Dean started laughing again. Cas narrowed his eyes and wondered if he'd ever understand this strange, erratic person.

After Dean's second bout of laughter calmed down, he pulled his hands off his shoulders and rubbed his neck. "So, Angel," Dean smiled, "What's the next step in our little plan?" Castiel's expression changed almost imperceptibly, then returned to typical detached impassiveness. He turned around, eyes narrowed as he scanned the surroundings. A chill wind picked up and whistled through the dead branches of the trees. After a moment, he turned back to Dean.

"We'll head to the Centrifuge. I think I can get us past the barrier without attracting any attention, and then we'll be safe for the night." The Angel's gravelly voice was strung slightly with something akin to worry. Dean raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly. Castiel recognized this look as confusion, and feeling a moment of pride for his perceptiveness, continued on. "The Centrifuge is that structure you see over there. It's a waiting area where the souls are kept before being moved to the Blankness." Dean's eyebrows raised even higher at that. "That information is not relevant, and wouldn't be pleasant to hear, so I will not relay it to you." The Angel continued dryly. Dean's eyebrows raised until they seemed in danger of flying off his forehead. Castiel ignored this, instead choosing to grab Dean's arm by the elbow.

"Hey, what the Hell, man?" Dean jerked his arm out of Castiel's hand, frowning. "What, you think I can't walk by myself?"

"No, Dean, I'm sure you are able to walk by yourself. I have seen you do it already. I am going to fly us there, as walking would be inefficient." Castiel reached out for Dean again, and Dean jumped back.

"Wait, wait, what? Fly?" His face changed from incredulity to amazement. "Are you saying you Angels can really fly? Dude, that's awesome!"

Castiel's head tilted, eyes narrow. "I'm not sure why you would find awe in such a commonly known aspect of Angels." He watched Dean's face change again and could not pin what expression he was showing. Humans were strange. He reached towards Dean's arm once more, this time met with no resistance, and said, "Close your eyes, Dean."

Cas felt the muscles in Dean's arm tense up instantly, and sensed that he was mistrusting his intent. "I am not going to harm you, Dean." Castiel reassured him. "I have to bring my wings into this plane and it'll take me a moment to adjust them so that they do not burn your eyes out." Dean's eyes widened, then shut tight quickly, muttering under his breath about something being messed up and freaky. Castiel concentrated his grace, letting tendrils of its power stretch up around the form of his wings. After a moment, he felt that the representation he had pulled into this plane was adequate for Dean, and informed him that he could open his eyes now.

Of course, the first thing Dean did was spin around, pulling out of Castiel's hold slightly to see what an Angel's wings would look like, and while he was not disappointed, he was a bit surprised.

Castiel's wings were huge, a span of about 10 feet. They were folded down slightly at the middle, hovering around Castiel's shoulders like a protective blanket. The feathers, if they could be called that, shimmered in a way that caused the eyes to slide off them, as if they made vision slippery. They were definitely not from this world, or any other world that Dean could ever see. The wings looked soft, and glowed ever so slightly, but one detail struck Dean as particularly odd.

"Your wings are black." Dean said. The corners of Castiel's mouth tugged downward slightly, as if he were considering being offended. Dean held out his hands to stop that train of thought and countered, "No, that's not a bad thing! They're really badass looking, Cas." Dean's voice was quiet, subdued slightly by the sight of something so... otherworldly. Otherworldly, and beautiful, not like the otherworld that Dean was so accustomed to dealing with.

Castiel's mouth returned back to a neutral position, but Dean swore he saw a flash of happiness in the Angel's eyes. Dean reached a hand forward and was immediately met with resistance, like there was a square foot of solid air providing a barrier around the wings.

"You can't touch them, Dean." Castiel said gruffly. Dean looked disappointed, but pulled his hand back and didn't ask questions. Maybe they would kill him if he touched them or something like that.

"No, they won't hurt you. Not if I don't let them. You just can't touch them." Dean jerked his attention to Castiel's face. Did he just read his mind? No way. That would be all different levels of creepy. Castiel's deadpan expression revealed nothing. Dean marked it down to coincidence, but he was definitely going to be wary from now on.

Then, without a word, they were flying.

Dean's mind went blank for most of the experience. All he knew was wind, sky, arms under his, and speed.

As they neared their destination, the lines of the castle were fading in and out of sight. It was as though the castle were far, far under water, the contours rippling and flowing, sometimes disappearing completely for a few seconds. The castle was in ruins, or appeared to be. Crumbling stone showed only dark interior, too dark to make out anything that might lie within. A sick sense of dread began pooling in the pit of Dean's stomach. The castle might look like it was dying, but it felt like it was alive; a malicious, sentient cage. He began to wonder if it might be better for them to stay out in the open and risk being found out rather than go inside that awful thing.

Then they were there, and as much as Dean wanted to voice his objections, he felt it would just be ridiculous of him. They were in Hell. Of course everything here was going to be malicious. That was the nature of the place, right? Still, as they landed a few yards away from a huge stone door, Dean's hands grew clammy and his stomach clenched.

"Hey, Cas? Are you... sure this is a good place to be?" Dean voiced weakly, feeling ridiculous immediately after the words left his mouth. Castiel met his eyes without a single hint of emotion. The blue eyes darted back and forth across Dean's face.

"It is not a good place to be, Dean. The fear you feel is justified. This is an evil place, and I do not wish to be inside it. However, I can hide you better once we are in there, and that is my priority." The Angel's voice held no malice or judgement; it didn't hold any comfort, either. Dean nodded and his expression grew tight. Guess they were going in, then.

Castiel held out an arm to prevent Dean from walking ahead of him. "Wait. I have to dismantle the barrier in this spot." His eyes closed and he lowered his forehead. A few flicks of his fingers with no visible reaction, and he opened his eyes again. "There. That wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be." Dean sensed a note of worry in his benefactor's voice, and decided not to comment on it. Best that he not try and get himself all worked up, too.

They walked towards the stone door, the definition of the walls becoming clearer with each step. Whatever Castiel had done, it had worked.

"Hey, Cas, I-" Dean was abruptly cut off.

"Why do you call me that? My name is not Cas. It's Castiel." Eyes narrowed, Castiel looked at Dean with legitimate confusion. This guy didn't know what a nickname was? Wow. Angels really were out of touch.

"It's a nickname, dude. I shortened your name because it's easier to say. Besides, it sounds nicer than Castiel. You know?"

From the look on his face, he did not know. He didn't have an inkling. They kept walking on in silence.

When they reached the stone door, Castiel reached his arms underneath Dean's again to lift them both off the ground and through the crumbled hole at the top of the door. They entered the darkness, Dean's stomach clenching in agitation. Inside, the cool air disappeared. The stillness of the air they flew through was unnatural. Unnatural, ha. That's definitely not a word Dean used very often. It was, though. The air was deliberately still, like a invisible wall, whispering to them to stop moving.

Dean was set on the ground, and while his eyes were completely blind in this place, he was relieved to feel solid, smooth ground beneath his feet. Blind and in the air was not his thing. Turning around to ask Castiel a question, he stopped and chuckled.

"You're glowing, dude."

Castiel's skin was lined with a faint light, a soft, pale white. "Yes, of course I am, Dean." he replied, matter-of-factly.

"Of course you are." Dean muttered. Angels, man. "Have you ever read Twilight?"

Castiel's brow furrowed. This guy sure looked confused a lot. "No, Dean, and I don't see how I could 'read' a time of day."

"Yeah, you're not missing out on anything with that one. Never mind." Dean rubbed the back of his neck and licked his lips absently. He felt fatigue in every inch of his body, his muscles tight and sore. "Hey, I need to get some rest. Just 4 hours, about, and then we can keep moving. Angels don't need sleep, do they?"

"No," Castiel confirmed, "That would be extremely inefficient. Rest, Dean. I'll keep watch." Dean nodded and, illuminated by the Angel's faint glow, he found a large slanted stone to rest up against. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes.

The Angel watched him fade into a troubled rest. Dean's face clenched in some guilty agony, Castiel could see without even touching upon his mind that he was experiencing pain in his sleep. Softly, he walked over to the resting man and placed two fingers on his forehead. "Rest, Dean Winchester. You've earned it." He whispered. Dean's face relaxed instantly, an almost peaceful expression taking over the lines of his eyes and forehead. Castiel closed his eyes and pulled the nightmare Dean had been experiencing out of his mind, watching with a mixture of disgust and pity as Dean's dream-self sat under a barrage of screams from the victims he had torn to shreds. Bodies with muscle torn out, bones broken at every point possible, tongues ripped off, blood pouring out of every orifice, they shrieked their anger and hatred for him. Castiel pushed away the dream and destroyed it. How could he be the righteous man? Castiel looked at Dean's sleeping body, searching his form for some indication of the evils he had committed. How could someone who was righteous perform such awful acts of destruction?

Yet, for some reason, Castiel felt as though he shouldn't hate this man. He didn't have a Demon's face, but he could see the taint in Dean's chest, spreading out from his heart. The progression had been stopped, but it was still there, hardening his heart and desperately wanting to corrupt his soul. Would he ever be whole again? Castiel, Angel of the Lord, soldier and warrior, sat beside the man and rested a single wing around him for warmth.

Dean awoke to complete darkness. How long had he been out? He felt... almost well-rested. That was bizarre. The nightmares should have...

The nightmares.

He hadn't had a nightmare.

Why did it feel like he had a blanket on?

Dean looked up, then realizing it was pitch black and there was no point in that, looked to his side, and jumped slightly at the glowing being in the trenchcoat sitting beside him. "Woah, hey man. Guess we got cozy while I was sleeping, huh?" Dean chuckled awkwardly.

Castiel looked at him, then pulled his wing off his shoulder. Dean eyed the wing, a strange expression in his eyes, as it folded to Castiel's side symmetrical with his other. "I do not know if it would be considered cozy, Dean. We are sitting on rocks."

Dean stared at him blankly, then chuckled. "Man, you are a trip."

"I am not a-"

"It's a saying, dude. It just means that you are really interesting and wacky, you know?"

"I do not know. I don't know what wacky means."

"It's... you know what, man, forget it."

"I can't forget it, Dean."

Dean's mouth opened and no sound came out. "Dude. Have you ever had a conversation with a person before? Because I gotta say, you kind of suck at it. No offense." Castiel did not look offended, but he also didn't look like he entirely understood what Dean was getting at. Sighing inwardly, Dean pushed on.

"I didn't have nightmares that time. That's never happened before." Dean looked back up at Castiel's face. The Angel's eyes squinted slightly, then darted to the ground, studying the rocks with a sudden fascination. "Cas. Cas, look at me, man." Dean tried to catch the Angel's eyes. Castiel pulled his gaze up with typical lack of interest, but Dean felt like he was faking it. "Hey, did you get rid of my nightmares? Is that a thing that's even possible?" 

Castiel cleared his throat. "I need you to be focused for this. So, yes, to answer your question, I removed the nightmares. You needed to rest so we wouldn't get caught due to your lack of focus from exhaustion."

Dean stared at him. This Angel had removed his nightmares? "Thanks, man."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 Up in the living realm, Ruby watched from afar as Sam conversed with an Angel.

"Gabriel. Shit, this is not good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long this chapter took. Some life drama happened and I was homeless for a bit. But I should be back on a regular schedule now! I'm thinking once a week, I'll publish. Sunday night seems good for that.


	4. What Is and What Should Never Be

Dean hummed Led Zeppelin under his breath and tapped his feet, bobbing his head to the imaginary beat, the suddenly burst out into air drums, startling Cas. He continued drumming away with a grin. "Led Zeppelin, man, come on! You guys got music upstairs, right?"

"If by upstairs you mean Heaven, then yes, we have music. We sing exaltation to our Father always." Castiel said somberly.

Dean snorted. "Wow, exaltation. So I'm guessing that means no Zeppelin."

"No. No Zeppelins."

Dean waved his hand. "I'll have to show you them sometime. We'll have a jam session and I'll introduce you to some  _real_ music. Trust me, you'll be grateful. Not to diss your holy tunes or anything." His drum solo finished, he sat on a flat rock next to the Angel and settled in for serious conversation. "So, I've been meaning to ask you. Where exactly are we?"

Castiel's stony face took on an even more sober appearance. "We're in the secondary level of Hell. You were being kept in the center, of course, so it was extremely difficult to get to you, but getting you out of here might be even more difficult."

"Yeah, speaking of which, why the Hell are you busting me out? Seems a lot of trouble to be going to for just some guy."

"You're not just some guy, Dean," the Angel replied seriously, "you are the righteous man."

There was a moment of silence as Dean's eyes widened, waiting for the punchline to this odd joke. When none came, Dean figured that the statement on its own was a punchline, and chuckled. "Right. The righteous man. You don't happen to mean righteous in the hippy-dippy, good ol' 60's way, do you?"

Castiel frowned. "I'm not entirely sure if the definition changed during that decade, Dean."

Dean chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Well, then, sorry to tell you so late into the party, but you've got the wrong guy. I won't say I'm the farthest thing from righteous in this pit, but that sure as Hell doesn't put me close to it. If you're looking for righteous men, I'd think you'd have enough at your own fiesta upstairs, wouldn't you say?"

The Angel turned his head, eyes narrowed. Dean couldn't help but note that he looked somewhat like a curious puppy, innocent and naive. It was almost adorable, if he was being honest with himself. Castiel continued to stare unblinkingly, his bright blue eyes piercingly intimate in a way that made Dean feel entirely uncomfortable. "Dude. Blink every now and again." 

Castiel's eyebrow raised in confusion, then he obliged by blinking furiously. Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Never mind. Keep doing your thing, man."

Dean rubbed his eyes with the back of his knuckles, and when his eyes opened again, Castiel was standing a mere few inches from his face. His immediate instinct was to back away immediately, but something held him in place and so he stood there, holding his breath. Castiel stared intently at his face, searching for something. 

"You don't think you deserve to be saved, do you?" He asked quietly, sadness in his voice. 

Dean cleared his throat and looked down, unwilling to keep eye contact with those bright, innocent eyes when he knew darkness must be reflected in his own. "Look, Cas, I'm not sure if they briefed you upstairs on what all has been going on down here, but I'm not exactly the top candidate for redemption." He looked back up and noticed that the Angel's eyes had softened. "I mean, I'm not complaining, just saying that chances are, you're going to get a memo any day now letting you know that you picked up the wrong guy. Sure would be my luck." He added, mumbling under his breath. 

Castiel's head turned slightly in that annoyingly adorable way that Dean was already growing a bit fond of. "I don't believe you have done anything that cannot be forgiven, Dean."

Dean laughed halfheartedly. "Thanks, Cas. Anyways, let's get off this subject now, shall we? What's our next move?"

Castiel took a step back away from Dean and grew somber. Dean barely had a second to contemplate just how close they had been standing before Cas worried him with his next statement. "I have tried to find another way but it seems we will have to pass through The Blankness in order to leave this circle."

"Right. The Blankness." Dean nodded. He met Castiel's gaze and added, "I have no fucking clue what that is."

"It is a form of torture in which souls are stripped of their being. I doubt explanation will be sufficient. I was hoping that we wouldn't have to pass through there, but it seems inevitable. The only transport out of this realm is inside of it. While I will shield you from the majority of the experience, it will still be horrific for you." The Angel's lips tugged down into a frown. "I wish I did not have to put you through more pain."

Dean attempted a smile. "Ah, pain? Hey, it's no biggie. I'm pretty good at handling pain."

Castiel stared at him, his piercing blue eyes roving up and down Dean's face. "This will be unlike physical pain, Dean. I... I wish you did not have to go through it. Are you ready?"

"Shit, we're going now. Okay, yeah." Dean took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself for whatever strange experience lay ahead. "I guess I'm as ready as I can be."

Castiel walked over to stand behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. Dean made a surprised noise but didn't resist. He heard Cas whispering in his ear and felt hot breath against his neck. "I am going to fly us directly into that darkness. I will not let go of you. Even if you don't feel me while we are in there, I swear to you I have not let go."

Dean could barely speak, struck silent by the Angel's close proximity. He felt as though small tendrils of electricity were rushing out from Castiel's skin into his own where his hands brushed against his belly.  _Focus, Dean,_ he ordered himself. Another moment and they were flying directly towards the heart of the dilapidated castle, the main room shrouded in an almost physical darkness.

As they entered the room, Dean could no longer see Castiel's arms clasped around his waist. He could still feel him, however, and took comfort in the muscled body pressed tightly against his. At the center of the room, he thought he saw some movement. He strained his eyes, trying to bring whatever it was into focus. It was a small orb of light, rushing towards them, and suddenly everything in Dean wanted to scream at Cas to turn back but he had no voice. Then they were in the ball of light and Dean had nothing.

He was nothing.

He had no body, no thoughts other than fear, no face, no voice.

His soul felt as though it were being melted away.

Fire, pain, misery.

He tried to scream but there was nothing. Just bright white light and everything that made up Dean Winchester floating away from him. He tried to reach out and grab at the parts of his soul drifting away but he had no arms. He was trapped, trapped as a floating entity whose barest essence was slowly being twisted away from him.

His thoughts came fast and disjointed now. Lightning speed fear, shame, guilt, memories that he was slowly disconnecting from himself. He saw a flash of Sam, of Dad, of Alastair, and the memories were blurring together so fast now that he couldn't pick them apart. They were starting to seem like someone else's memories, as though he were watching someone else's dream. He felt himself floating away from himself, as if his mind and soul were being pulled in opposite directions. Somewhere deep in his mind, the terror was still reeling, but a part of himself was accepting it.

He was dying.

Worse than that, he was alive but his soul was dying. It was being destroyed, torn apart, taken away into the vast blazing white light to never return, until he would be nothing but an empty husk, devoid of life but still living, still breathing, but with nothing to make up his essence. Part of him accepted it, longed for it, a sweet release after all this pain. To no longer be Dean Winchester was a most beautiful relief that part of him had never fathomed wanting but now needed. The other part of him, the stubborn side that could never lose a fight, held strong, screamed at Dean to remember those beautiful wings flying him through. He would survive this. He would survive this. He would survive.

And then, it was all over.

Dean felt solid ground underneath his body, and it was a strange concept to him after the awful destruction that had just been thrown against his soul. He felt ragged, tired, as though his body were putting itself back together after a long marathon. The terror that had hid in the back of his mind now flooded him, and he felt tears press against his eyelids. He opened his eyes, searching for something to make him feel real again, and saw the Angel's face in front of him.

Then, without thinking, he grabbed the face and drew it towards his and kissed him, long and hard.

 

* * *

 

"Sam, listen to yourself. This guy says your brother is being pulled out of Hell by an Angel and you just believe him?" Ruby looked extremely worried, her big eyes filled with something that Sam was not used to seeing. Fear.

"Ruby, I know it sounds crazy, but think about it. Angels, if they are real, could be the one thing that could save my brother!" Sam was excited, feeling a nervous energy he hadn't felt in months. He felt almost hopeful. 

Ruby crossed her arms. "Well, if they are here to help you, then I'm going to have to take a step back." Sam gave her an inquisitive look and she sighed with annoyance. "Angels, Sam, fucking Angels! I'm a Demon! How well do you think that's going to go over with them once they figure out we're working together?"

"Look, Ruby, I can explain it to them. They have to see that you're different, that you've been helping me!"

Before Ruby had a chance to voice her rebuttal, there was a soft  _whoosh_ of air and then a noise as something crashed behind them. Ruby and Sam spun about, immediately on alert, and then Sam relaxed. "Oh, it's you."

The being that had been in Sam's car looked up guiltily from the smashed glass around his feet. "Yeah, it's me! Clumsy as ever, I suppose. And this would be your Demon friend, Ruby. Nice to meet you." He smiled amiably at the woman, who looked as though she were about to have a heart attack.

"Sam. Sam, that is an Angel. You didn't tell me your contact was an Angel."

Sam's eyes widened. "I... holy shit. I mean, shit, sorry, didn't mean to-"

"It's fine, big boy, I've got no concerns with your language. Yep, you got me, I'm an Angel. Let's try to keep that information on the low-down, shall we? I'm Gabe. Gabriel."

Sam's eyes were the size of saucers now. "Gabriel...  _the_ Gabriel from the Bible?"

"Well, I feel I'm severely misrepresented in the common version of the Bible, but yeah. That's me!" He swung his arms wide and grinned. "And you, my friend, don't look too well." He added, nodding towards Ruby.

Ruby swallowed and took another step backwards. "I'm just... going to head out of here."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed and his voice took on a threatening tone. "Yeah, I think that would be best."

Sam looked surprised, but didn't argue as Ruby left the room hurriedly, scooping up her clothes and slamming the door behind her. Sam gave Gabriel a curious glance, obviously still in shocked awe and not ready to pick a fight with this celestial being. Gabriel turned to him with a smile. "Well, that's fantastic. You're screwing a Demon. Can't say I dig your taste."

Sam frowned. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Gabriel clapped his hands together. "It's not! Now, let's talk about breaking into Hell, shall we?"


	5. Can't Quit You Baby

It was a long, passionate kiss.

At first, Castiel didn't seem to have any clue how to respond. He held completely still, eyes wide in shock. Then, as Dean deepened the kiss, desperation in his lips like a man searching for water in a desert, Castiel seemed to grasp exactly how this worked and closed his eyes, returning the kiss in full. It lasted hours, days, a lifetime, and then it was over and Dean was reeling backwards, stupefied.

"I... Holy shit, Cas, I don't know what came over me, I just... Shit, I'm sorry." His mouth was dropped open, eyes roaming from side to side as if searching for something to explain his actions. "I just... I don't know, I came out of there and I just... I had to feel real, I had to feel like I was me again, and I just... I don't know! You were there, and it just seemed right, I don't... Fuck." He ran his hands through his hair, blinking furiously. "I'm sorry. Great, this is awkward."

Castiel turned his head with his characteristic puppy-dog stare. "I do not see a reason to be sorry, Dean. That was a pleasant experience. I have never done that before."

Dean chuckled nervously. "Ha, well, not that I'm not glad to be your first time, but... Shit, dude, sorry for lobbing that on you like that." He rubbed the back of his neck and did everything possible to avoid meeting the Angel's intense stare. "It's been a long time since I've done that."

"Since you have kissed someone?"

"Well, yeah, that, but more specifically, kissed a guy." Dean looked up sheepishly, finally meeting Castiel's gaze. "It happened once when I was a teenager. My dad came home and beat the ever-loving shit out of me for it."

Castiel looked concerned. "Does your father have something against kissing?"

Dean laughed at that. "No, not to my knowledge. He just thinks it's disgusting for a guy to kiss another guy." He cleared his throat and shook his hands to try and release some of the nervous tension building up in his muscles as the conversation went on. "Damn, I've never told anyone about that. I guess you're just easy to talk to." Another nervous chuckle.  _Damn, Dean, you're almost 70 years old. You'd think you could hold a conversation with another guy._ Dean shrugged the thought off. He glanced up to see another soul-piercing stare from those bright, blue eyes and looked down, still unable to maintain contact with a gaze that intense. It made him feel as though all his faults and secrets were being laid bare in front of him and there was nothing he could do to keep them secret. Shit, for all he knew, the Angel could be seeing all his secrets. Who knew what these guys could pull off?

With another stressful motion through his hair, Dean decided to move on. "So, what level of Hell is this? Looks to me like foggy nothing."

Castiel looked around them. "It is actually something like that, yes. We should be very careful not to get separated here. This is a place where you can get lost for centuries on end. I'll try to create something to keep us tethered." He proceeded to sit on the ground on his knees, hands laid gently against his thighs, and close his eyes in concentration. Dean stayed in a sitting position, watching expectantly, but after a few minutes had passed into nearly half an hour, he was getting too antsy to ignore. He stood up and looked all around them for some change in scenery. There was nothing around them but thick, rolling fog that seemed to be moving quickly. The speed of the fog occasionally made it seem as though there were something in the distance, but each time Dean took a few steps forward to investigate it, he would discover it was just break in the never-ending mist. A few moments of searching having revealed absolutely nothing of interest, he turned back to check on Castiel.

He could barely see him in the distance, but he was still there. He vaguely saw the figure standing up, then the echo of his name shouted reached him. He called back, waving his arms to catch Castiel's attention, but he didn't seem to notice. "Goddamn Angels should have 20/20 vision, you'd think." Dean mumbled in annoyance, jogging back to him. When he was about ten feet away from him, Castiel finally caught his eyes, and then his entire person was obscured as a massively thick wave of fog passed between the both of them. The fog made Dean nervous, and losing sight of Castiel put him on edge, even knowing he was a mere yard away at this point. He ran the rest of the distance, and the fog cleared.

Castiel wasn't there.

He felt a small panic rising in the pit of his stomach. "Cas? Castiel? Yo, Angel! Answer me, dude, I know you're near me!" He called out, his yell getting louder and louder with each passing second. "CASTIEL, ANSWER ME GODDAMN IT!"

His desperate cries were met with no answer. Dean was alone once again.

 

* * *

 

 

The first few hours were spent canvassing the entire area surrounding the location they had been sitting in together, but to no avail. After three hours had passed, Dean was forced to admit to himself that he wasn't even quite sure where he had started and how far away he had ended. The environment was so unchanging, so monotonous, that he could have walked a mile away and not been sure of it. With every break in the fog came a jolt of excitement, thinking a figure was walking towards him, and then another wave of the mist would roll in and crush his hopes.

With the search deepening into hopelessness, Dean finally decided to give it a break. He collapsed on the ground, his head cradled in his hands, and berated himself for ever leaving Castiel's side. "Fucking foolish move, Dean." He grumbled at himself. "Lost your one fucking ticket out of here. Now you're going to be stuck in this miserable fog until Alastair finds you and drags your ass back to the center, and then he's going to peel your flesh off. Great fucking job." And on and on he went. No one could hate Dean Winchester as well as Dean Winchester could.

After half an hour, he noticed a change in the light. Glancing towards the sky, or what could possibly be a sky, it seemed that whatever this circle had for daylight was fading, and fast. At the rate that the light was disappearing, Dean estimated he would be in total darkness in under an hour. The idea of being out in the open, without any protection or shelter, struck Dean with trepidation.

Right at the moment the thought passed his mind, Dean noticed something in the distance. The fog rolled around it and it still hadn't faded away, which made as good a case for an actual solid object as anything in this place. The fog parted to go around its sides and a break in the whiteness showed Dean what it was. The entrance to a cave. Dean's immediate thought was that it was a trap. The whole thing was just way too convenient. A cave appearing right when he was considering his need for shelter? Nothing good ever happened like that to Dean Winchester, and particularly not in Hell. However, he could sleep in there for whatever passed as night in this place, and know for sure that he was staying in the same location. Cas had to be looking for him, too, right?

Deciding the benefits outweighed the potential drawbacks, Dean made for the cave, praying with every step that the fog wouldn't take it away like it had his guardian Angel.

Once at the cave entrance, a wave of relief washed over him. It wasn't a deep cave, about the size of a living room, more like an alcove than an actual cave. It was perfect for shelter, but still kept him in easy enough sight that Cas would be able to see him if he walked by.

He settled himself on the ground near the rim of the entrance and allowed himself to fall into an uneasy sleep, his nightmares returning to him with the darkness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week had passed and Dean was fast losing hope.

It had all been too good to be true, he told himself. Escaping the center of Hell without a scratch? Not a single Demon on their ass? An Angel of the fucking Lord sent to rescue him? No, Dean told himself, the whole thing was bullshit. He was angry at himself for falling for it to begin with, and as the unchanging days stretched into nights, he was more and more convinced that Alastair had coined this whole thing. Maybe he wanted his pet to experience all levels of Hell? Maybe he wanted to watch as he was tortured by loss of hope and whatever else Hell had to throw at him. Perhaps he was watching right now, sitting back in some Demon armchair with a beer, laughing as Dean melted into a ball of misery and hopelessness. 

What else was there to do but sit and wait to be dragged back to the center? A part of Dean wanted to go out and search for Castiel, but he knew that there would be no point. Castiel was either not really an Angel, or he truly was lost forever and nothing would bring him back to Dean. This cave was the closest thing to comfort he had found in this Hellhole and he wasn't going to give it up for nothing.

The hardened part of his heart where the Demonic taint had started spreading was feeling cold again. For a moment there, he had almost forgotten it existed, with Castiel's arrival and the high of hope. Now that it was all fading away, it was almost as if the taint was spreading faster, feeding on his misery and renewed hopelessness. Maybe the taint needed new sources of negative energy to feed on, to complete its task of turning Dean into the Demon he was destined to become. 

"The righteous man." He whispered to himself with bitterness. "How the Hell did I listen to that and not realize I was being duped on the spot?"

He laid on the floor, stretched out, and stared at the black nothingness of the cave's ceiling.

 

* * *

 

 

"Shit." Gabriel said, looking down at the book in front of him written in some archaic language that Sam hadn't even been able to recognize.

"Shit, what?" Sam said worriedly.

"Your brother and my associate, they've been separated. Separated for about a month now, if my instincts are right, which they always are."

"A month? But... you told me they had just broken into Hell a few days ago."

"They did." Gabriel said grimly. "A few days ago by our standards. Time passes differently in Hell. Down there, your brother's been locked up for... oh, about 32 years? Almost 33 now."

Sam's face dropped in horror. "Oh, my god."

"Doesn't seem fair to place claim on him like that. He's everyone's god, right?" Gabriel said with a grin. "Now, let's pass the obvious abject horror of that entire concept and help your brother out."

"Well, what can we do?" Sam crossed his arms. "I can't think of any spell that could not only help them out, but could break through the walls of Hell to get to them."

Gabriel smiled. "Thankfully, we have me here. I have the perfect spell for this, all I need is someone with a close connection to the Hell-soul and we can create a tear small enough for the spell to do its work. Let's get to it. From what I can feel, your brother has hit total hopelessness and we can't be having that."


	6. Travelling Riverside Blues

Dean was beginning to wonder what would happen if you committed suicide in Hell.

Without any Demon to bring you back, would you just fade away?

Dean contemplated these and other thoughts as he drew his hundredth cross in the sand. It had been over a month now since him and Castiel had been separated from each other, and things had gone from bad to shit. After two weeks of miserable solitude, Dean had decided to attempt another search for his lost Angel companion. He had scooped up a stone from his cave room and drew a cross in the sand directly in front of the cave entrance. He took another five steps, and made another mark in the sand. 

It was slow going, but it was better than getting even more lost and potentially losing his only blessing in this awful place. Dean was even beginning to feel a little better now that he was out and doing something at least slightly productive when suddenly, he saw another cave in the distance. His good mood soared with hope.  _What if Castiel is there?_ he thought to himself. He had to stop himself from running and remind himself to lean down and make his mark in the ground. When he leaned down, however, he realized there was already a cross in the sand. He stopped, turned around, wondering if he had somehow gotten turned around, but there was a mark in the sand behind him as well. He walked forward until he came to the mouth of the cave and saw the original cross he had put there when he left. 

He was completely dumbfounded. Was this cave moving itself around? How could he possibly get anywhere if the cave moved itself around? Or, perhaps, the ground moved itself around Dean himself as he traveled around. Dean had decided to place a mark on the ground with a stone in the middle and then lay down for a nap and see what happened. When he awoke, his fears were confirmed.

The mark and stone were still in perfect condition, not rubbed away by the fog, but they were now 20 feet away from the mouth of the cave. Dean collapsed onto the floor of his makeshift home when he saw it, his last hope now snubbed out. If he couldn't even move, couldn't even search for the Angel, what was the point in doing anything? This train of thought brought Dean to his current considerations, two weeks after the incident. He wondered if he should kill himself. Obviously this circle's method of torture was of the mind, and in a way, it was worse than anything Dean had experienced so far. Not being able to do anything, not even able to make attempts to move around while failing, nothing. He couldn't even confront his enemy and get himself killed in the process because the enemy was his own loneliness.

His whole situation was hopeless. All he saw in his immediate future was unending monotony, and in his distant future, more of the same. There seemed to be no way out, no action to be taken, and no means of relief. He was doomed to be lost for eternity.

He almost missed the center of Hell.

Now, sitting at the mouth of his cave, his head resting on his knees while he stared glumly at the sandy floor, he decided that perhaps going mad was the best option he had. Hell, in the past week, he had already picked up talking to himself consistently. The total lack of sound had been grinding on him until he had a sudden flash of fear that he had gone deaf. He had shouted out quickly to reassure himself, and then had fallen into a fit of laughter. 

"What are you going to do, Dean? Just let yourself sit here and bitch about how shitty things are?" Dean said to himself crossly. "That's bullshit. That's not the way you want to go out, is it? You've got to do something, Winchester. Think. Think." He stared down at the dirty cave floor, holding his head in his hands, contemplating the pure hopelessness of his situation.

His eyes were on the ground, glazed over as he tried for the ten thousandth time to think of a plan, but something on the corner of his plane of vision caused him to focus in. Something was outside of his cave, something small on the ground. Cautiously, he rose up from his rock and stepped forward, this sudden change in his surroundings both worrisome and exciting. "Calm down, Dean. Don't get your hopes up." He whispered to himself, moving slowly. Still, he couldn't help the little bubble of hope that was rising in his chest with each step he took. 

He reached the object and was completely confounded. It was the end of a rope, the length of which went off into the distance. "What the Hell..." He trailed off. Should he follow it? Could this be a trap? Perhaps Alastair had finally found him and he wanted to play a little game before scooping him up. "You can't sit here and do nothing." He reminded himself. It was decided then. He would follow this random rope. He picked it up, moving it back and form in the palm of his hand. Nothing was unusual about the rope, but he didn't know what to expect in his place. Placing hand over hand, he took up the slack and began to follow it. 

He walked for what felt like hours, but time passed differently in this place. With nothing but grey, unchanging floor below him and swirling mist around him, his movements blurred together until he fell into a trance. The rope became his lifeline, his only reassurance that he was, in fact, still there and not some apparition of the never-ending mist. Some part of him kept thinking that perhaps he should return to his cave, and not take this route that could mean the loss of his only shelter. He kept on anyways.

Finally, he came out of his walking trance and noticed something strange. The rope was no longer slack on the floor. It was lifted up slightly, as if something far away in the distance was holding up the other end of it. Every nerve in Dean's body fired up with anticipation, his muscles clenching up as he went on full alert. Was he about to meet another inhabitant of this awful place? Or perhaps a Demon, maybe even Alastair? Maybe...

Maybe it was Cas?

Dean brushed the thought away as soon as it came to him. No way would something as miraculous as that happen to him in Hell. Even when he had been alive, his luck had been shit from start to finish. It wasn't about to turn pleasant down here.

Still, a tiny part of him ached for the Angel to be at the end of that line. Was Castiel still looking for him? Probably not, Dean assumed. As soon as they were separated, Cas probably beamed up to Heaven with some Angel superpowers and didn't look back.

The rope raised higher. Whoever, or whatever, was on the end of it was close by now. Dean felt urges to both walk faster and slow down. The head-on attitude in him was too strong, and the urge to speed up won out. He began jogging, then broke into a small run, the rope falling behind him with soft noises. 

And then, there he was. 

Castiel, Angel of the Lord.

His wings were outstretched as though he were about to take off in flight, but he was completely frozen. His eyes were wide. His mouth was slightly cracked open. Dean stared, rope still in his hands, unable to move, unable to speak, unsure if this vision in front of him was real.

Then, the Angel broke stillness and started walking towards him. His movements sped up and then he was in front of Dean, his arms raised up, his hands cupping Dean's face. Without a word, he pressed a kiss to his lips, gentle but firm. Dean didn't move, his mind trying to process all the things happening to him, and instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Cas and didn't let go. The kiss broke and they stood, arms around each other, in silence.

Finally, Dean spoke, his voice hoarse. "You kissed me."

Castiel nodded. "Indeed. I enjoyed it when you did it and it seemed a good thing to do given the situation."

Dean laughed. "Dude, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I missed the weird way you talked."

Castiel furrowed his brow in confusion. Dean laughed harder, giving him a tight squeeze and then stepping back. "That rope trick was neat. How did you pull that off?"

"I didn't. That was not my trick. The rope appeared in front of me as I was searching for you. I considered that it might be a way to you and followed it and I was correct."

"But... If you didn't do it... Did one of your Angel friends conjure that up?" Dean frowned. It didn't seem likely that he had even more saviors running around, pulling off favors for him. The one standing in front of him was unlikely enough. "Someone else?"

"No, this was a spell of some sort. I don't know how, but it was created from someone living and managed to find a way into this plane. I have no idea who or how but... I'm glad it happened. I've been looking for you."

"This whole time?" Dean asked incredulously. 

"Yes." Castiel looked serious. "I haven't paused, nor have I rested. I was almost convinced my mission was futile, and-"

"-and you were going to vamoose. Totally understandable. I'm just surprised you didn't before now." Dean said, chuckling bitterly.

Cas looked surprised. "No. I would never leave you down here, Dean. My mission is to see you safely back to your living form and I will complete it, no matter what."

Dean felt awkward and happy, unsure of how to respond. This kind of blunt straight-forward kindness and dedication to him was unusual in Dean's line of work. He cleared his throat. "Thanks, ah... Where to now, Cas?"

Cas nodded. "Yes, next. The next circle of Hell will be... Well, difficult."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, can't be any worse than this."

"I will leave that judgement up to you. The next circle will take at least a year to pass through, most likely more. It is a hunting ground. Demons chase souls across an eternal hunting ground."

A smile began forming on Dean's lips. "You saying I get to fight Demons? Oh, bring it on. Hold on, why a year?"

"It's part of the warding on the circle. By entering, you are placed in a spell that is essentially a contract keeping your soul in this location for a year at least. It was a deal the Demons of this level worked out with their higher ups, I presume. The warding is unbreakable. We will have to remain, and it is absolutely necessary to pass through this circle in order to reach the next."

Dean's smile turned up even more. "Hunting Demons for a year straight. Let's get on with it."

 

* * *

 

 

"Do you think it worked?" Sam asked worriedly, his arms crossed. 

Gabriel waved a hand at him dismissively. "Of course it worked. Though you shouldn't have made me waste all that energy on a damn cave. You worry about your brother too much."

Sam shrugged. "Well, when you described the place he was in, sounded sort of like the type of thing that would drive Dean nuts. Giving him a little rest was a good thing. And you're a damn Angel, don't complain about energy loss." He smirked at Gabriel's mockingly shocked expression. "So what next?"

Gabriel grinned wickedly. "Oh, big boy, I think you're going to enjoy this next one. For this one, the spell requires quite a lot of power, and something very particular."

"And what's that?"

"An act of passion."


	7. The Battle of Evermore

Dean and Cas sat next to each other, Castiel's wing placed over Dean's body for warmth.

They had arrived at the next circle and discovered it resembled a long, never-ending battlefield. There were bunkers sprinkled about, trenches stretching for miles, and blood soaked ground all around them. Discarded weapons and corpses occasionally littered the field, proving somewhat of a boon to Dean. He picked up a pistol and smiled fondly. "Makes me think of the old days." Castiel had watched him, trying to discern from his face what he was feeling.

They had decided to sleep in a bunker. Or, more accurately, Dean needed his rest. Castiel was just fine with moving forward but insisted on sleep for Dean. "You're exhausted. I can see it." He had told his protesting companion. After being sufficiently denied his stubborn need to keep going, Castiel had reminded him that effort alone wouldn't increase their chances of getting out of this circle. "We're going to be here for a year at least, Dean. No need to go running off into battle."

They had moved to the nearest bunker. They were both sitting against the wall when Castiel asked, "Why don't you lay down? I was told most Humans sleep laying on their backs, or perhaps their side."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, well, I picked up some new habits." His gaze grew dark. "Don't like to be caught laying down."

"You need not fear an ambush, Dean." Castiel said softly. "I will not allow anything to attack you in the dark."

Dean looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I appreciate the gesture, really, but I prefer my way." With his back pressed against the wall, Dean let his head hang, his legs folded upwards towards him.

Castiel watched his troubled companion fall into a fitful sleep, his shoulders twitching as the nightmares washed over his psyche. Cas reached out a finger and paused in front of Dean's face, then traced his fingertip along Dean's chin. His finger remained there for a moment, his skin brushing gently over Dean's scratchy jawline, then moved up to his forehead, where he placed two fingers and closed his eyes. The images of Dean's dreams swam in his own mind, the mangled bodies in front of him hazy, as if being seen through a murky lake. Castiel watched for a moment, his mind and Dean's connected, a twinge of sympathy lighting in his stomach as he watched Dream Dean on the floor of his dream's memory. Dream Dean was curled into a tight ball, his arms crossed over the top of his head to protect himself from the blows of his victims and to block out their screams of condemnation. 

Again, Castiel was struck by the thought of this man being the righteous man, but this time he saw a bit more why that could be. Whatever caused Dean to become this way, to perform these awful machinations, was not something close to Dean's soul. Dean's soul shone brightly, fiercely, full of light and the will to protect what was dear to him. The blackness in his heart that had since stopped spreading was something alien, something forced, as opposite Dean's soul as the light is from the dark. The blackness attempting to swallow his soul had stopped growing, it was true. It still remained, though, and the Angel wondered how this soul could ever be clean again.

With a small stream of power, Castiel severed the link between Dean's dream and his mind. Dean's shoulders immediately stilled, waves of peaceful emptiness filling his mind's space. "Sleep well, Dean." Cas whispered to him.

 

* * *

 

 

"So, what, the plan is to just run around, killing Demons and hiding out in bases?" Dean pulled out the clip of his newly-acquired gun, looking pleased at the amount of bullets and then pushing it back in with a satisfying click. "I mean, I'm all about ganking Demons all day, but I'd like to have a base. You know, somewhere we can crash at and shore up. If we've got a year to hang around, might as well have our own little corner."

Castiel stooped down to pick up a knife from the ground and handed it to Dean. "I agree. This is a bit too broken down for my liking, however. We'll look around until we find something sufficient."

Once outside, Dean's nerves were on fire. After so much time locked up, beaten and cut at, torn and shredded in ways he couldn't have imagined, the idea of returning some of that pain in kind built a fire up in him. Castiel, however, remained his consistently stoic self, not a single emotion readily apparent in his eyes. Dean felt he was growing accustomed to the tiny movements in the Angel's muscles, and the face that at first seemed cold and lifeless now held a myriad of mysterious reactions. They were small, and hard to see, but Dean was beginning to see them. All that remained now was to figure them out.

He truly did want to figure this Angel out, Dean was realizing. Something about Castiel struck a spark inside of Dean, lighting up a part of him that had been wrapped in darkness for so long. This strange ethereal being in his tie and trenchcoat stood out like a sore thumb in a place like this, but he was becoming a beacon to Dean. Seeing something so pure, so good, after being surrounded by nothing but the worst of evil for so many years was almost like living in a dream state. This being was a reminder of living, of what Dean would fight so hard for back on the surface. There was something more to it, though, some other feeling that was more than just hope or admiration. Dean wasn't sure if he knew what it was, or if he wanted to know, but the memory of their two kisses was always in the back of his mind, trailing the end of each thought about Castiel. 

Did Castiel think the same things, Dean wondered. What did kissing mean to an Angel? Did Angels have any feelings towards touch, towards lips meeting, towards... No, no. Dean determinedly stymied the thought process before it got out of control. It didn't matter, he told himself. There was no reason to focus on something so arbitrary and pointless as an Angel's potential romantic feelings in a place like Hell. Castiel had to be incredibly old, but the innocence there belied something younger. Something curious and insatiable about the world of humanity. Could it be that... No. Dean stopped himself again. Damn, but he really was letting his mind wander. This was not the time or place to pay attention to hormones. All that mattered was survival, and escape.

Escape. The word spread through Dean's soul like a balm, soothing the ragged edges of something that had been growing dark and rough. As the duo stepped through the battlefield before them, littered with bones and artillery shells, Dean wondered once again if it were truly possible for such a thing. Escape from this blooded wasteland, this whirlwind pit of misery and hatred. The strongest of the worst emotions thrived here, and took literal form. Could he escape from that? Could anyone?

With the dark-haired ethereal being beside him, maybe it was something to hope for. Maybe.

There was no one else around them for a while. They made their way through the trenches and stumbled over the pock-marked ground. For the first time in a while, Dean thought of some of the movies he used to watch when he was alive. This certainly resembled some of the war flicks he would catch on the late night channels when Sammy was asleep. War movies had never been his type. The gritty realism did not appeal to Dean, who experienced the grittiest reality had to offer.

After some time, Dean finally heard a sound other than the padding of their feet. "Hey, did you hear that?"

Castiel nodded, unperturbed. "Yes. We're being followed by a Demon, it would seem."

Dean frowned. "Do you think you could have let me know, maybe?"

Castiel turned to him with an expression of confusion. "I've upset you."

Dean barked a small laugh. "Uh, yeah, man. We're in this together, so I've got to know that you have my back. Part of having my back is warning me when there are murderous dicks following me." With a shake of his head, he picked up his speed, taking the lead. After a few seconds of silence, he looked back and saw Castiel staring pointedly at his back, a bewildered look in his bright eyes.

With a fond laugh to himself, he turned his attention back towards the sounds around them. Now that he was aware of it, the low thumps of footsteps trailing just after their own was easily discernible. Whoever, or whatever, had caught their scent didn't appear keen on attacking, however. The hairs on the back of Dean's neck rose as with each passing step, his anxiousness building on itself. Finally, ready to burst, he stopped and put his hands to his mouth. "Whoever the fuck is following me, come out now so we can deal with this already!"

The shout echoed for a while, with no reply. Castiel's eyebrows were raised, but he said nothing, scanning the horizon for signs of their pursuer. No one appeared. Dean punched the air in aggravation, spinning back around. "Fine. Take your damn time, then."

They didn't go much farther before Castiel stopped them. "Look. That would be a good place for us to rest."

Dean followed the direction of Castiel's finger. Not far in the distance was a small house, in well repair in comparison to the destruction they had seen. It was a low, one story building, camouflaged well to blend in with a massive tree that settled against its back. Sparse bushes covered the front. It would have missed Dean's attention entirely had the Angel not noted it. Dean nodded his agreement. "Let's check it out, see what we've got to go on."

The image of the house did something strange to Dean. It was so reminiscent of life up top, but also so alien to Dean's own experience of life. His own meandering existence had spread from motel to motel, sleeping in thin sheets soaked with cigarette smells. Home had always been the road, his car, and his brother. The idea of a house to settle in had both excited and disgusted him when he had been living. Settling down had its appeal, but Dean wondered how well he would live in such a life. What would he do? What was he good at if not for hunting evil, cutting the heads from those that would seek to cause harm? Would he ever be happy in such a life?

Would he ever be happy at all? Dean laughed angrily at himself at the thought. He knew after this, after Hell, he didn't deserve to be happy, not for a moment. Every second of misery and hatred that he experienced from this point forward could never compare to what he had done. He couldn't punish himself enough.

The front door was rusty, but with some force, was thrown open. Once inside, the building revealed itself to be one large bunker. It had been most cleared out, containing just one bed and mess of cooking utensils. Against one wall lay a pile of weapons and clothing. A small table was beside that. Feeling his way through the murky darkness, Dean found a set of matches and a few candles. Within a few minutes, the place was well-lit. 

The door was shut and a large chair pressed against it. The windows were barred over, spilling barely any light into the room. Castiel stood at one window, immobile, as Dean made his rounds to ensure that this new place could be easily defended. 

After a half an hour, he had cleaned the place to his liking and fortified what open areas there were. Castiel had not moved an inch, and Dean hadn't bothered him, too focused on his task to care much. Once he was done, he clapped his hands together triumphantly. 

"Well! Seems like we got ourselves a little home, Cas." He grinned at his Angel companion. Castiel said nothing. Dean stepped towards his side and waved a hand in front of his face. "Uh, Cas?"

The bright blue eyes met his own. "You should look outside."

Dean cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. Apprehension settled in his stomach before his head could even turn. 

Outside the bunker stood over a dozen Demons, the dirty sunlight dimming behind them as the sun set on the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of the chapter, and the wait! I'll get back to a more consistent schedule now.


	8. Good Times Bad Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I've updated, and I apologize. Half of this chapter was written months ago, and the other half now, so the style might feel off, but I will let it flow more smoothly from now on. Thank you all for enjoying the work, and I'm excited to show you where it's going to go next!

The Demons did not attack immediately. Dean and Castiel stared out the window, ready and waiting, but the evil creatures did not move a muscle as the sun went down. When night blanketed the battlegrounds, their silhouettes were barely recognizable. 

"What the Hell are they waiting for?" Dean mumbled angrily. "Are they just a bunch of peeping toms, or are we going to fight?"

Castiel said nothing, his eyes unblinking. 

They waited together for what seemed like hours. Finally, Dean couldn't take it anymore. "Let's go out and fight those sons of bitches," he growled. 

Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder. "No, Dean. There's too many of them to take out there. We should wait until they try to attack the house."

Dean's initial reaction was to shrug the Angel's hand off his shoulder, but instead, he held completely still, marveling in the contact. Being touched by something other than the evil that had tormented him for so long was still such an amazing experience, and with an Angel, no less. He wondered if Cas had ever touched a human being before, felt his skin come into contact with another. Did he enjoy it? Did the same thrill rush through his body at a touch?

He shrugged off the thought, chastising himself for letting his mind wander on pointless things when a situation was at hand. Castiel's presence seemed to inspire a habit of meandering thoughts whenever he was around and it was dangerous. Dean couldn't let thoughts like that come into play when he was in a life or death situation. The concept of having someone else's back to watch again was, to a degree, the most relieving thing he could imagine. Ever since leaving Sammy... and there was again, off on another pointless train of thought.

The Demons had begun to move, but not towards the house. They formed a circle, and seemed to be speaking to each other, but the words were too quiet for either Dean nor Castiel to catch. Castiel's hand slid off Dean's shoulder as he turned to him. "They're going to begin an attack now. They were waiting to see if they could draw us out of the bunker, I believe. Are you ready?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. What about you? Do you need a weapon? I think I saw another gun lying around here."

Castiel almost smiled, the corners of his lips tugging up ever so slightly with a hint of pride. "I do not need a weapon, Dean."

Dean gave the Angel an appraising look. "Well, damn, alright then. Looking forward to seeing you in action, Cas."

Castiel's head tilted sideways, and his expression took on a curious puppy-like demeanor. "See me in action?"

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, like fighting. Moving around. Doing Angel stuff, you know. Action."

The Angel blinked, processing the information. "I would also like to see you in action, Dean." Another near-smile appeared on Castiel's face. 

Dean felt his face grow hot. He cleared his throat, feeling suddenly awkward but unable to pin down the reason. He flashed a quick smile at Cas and cleared his throat again, searching for something to say. "Ah, thanks." Thanks? Dean chastised himself silently. What a ridiculous turn this conversation had taken. Why was he so easily bothered by this damn Angel?

His train of thought was cut off by the sound of movement outside. Dean crooked his neck to stare out the window. "Where are they going?"

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but barely a sound came out before he was interrupted by an explosion at the back of the bunker. Dean was thrown against the wall. He felt his neck snap, his head crack against the metal bars covering the window behind him, and his vision filled with white lights. A high-pitched noise met his ears, and the last thing he saw before his consciousness fled was Castiel glowing with an immense fire, and then blackness.

 

* * *

 

The first thing that Dean saw when his eyes opened was a ceiling fan.

It took a moment to process, but as soon as his consciousness returned to him fully, he wondered how hard he had really been hit. The thought was quickly subdued by a familiar feminine face leaning over his. 

"Who are... wait, Bela? Is that you?" Dean blinked a few times to clear his vision. He tried to sit up but found himself pushed back onto the bed.

"Stay," Bela ordered. Her dark hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck. Her face was haggard and drawn, dirty, and there was something in her eyes that was much different than the last time he had seen her. Alive. Back on the surface. 

Dean glared. His head was enduring a pounding by a killer headache, but he was determined to know what was going on. "Get away from me," he grumbled. 

Bela rolled her eyes and sat beside Dean. He reached out his hands and confirmed he was in a bed. Bela was watching him with a nearly blank face, as though she were asleep or somewhere else. Slowly, Dean pulled himself to a sitting position and looked around. Before he could speak, Bela said, "Your friend is out, but he'll be back soon."

"How... how did you find me?" Dean asked.

Bela smiled, a bitter thing. "I was with the Demons that were tracking you. New blood is easy to find. As soon as you dropped in, you were pinged for miles out. You're lucky I got to you first."

"Lucky?" Dean leered at her. "You were tracking me with Demons and you're calling that lucky?" Despite the familiar hatred that sprung up in his chest, he couldn't help the ache that came with seeing a familiar face. It was jolting to see someone from that life, so long ago, here in front of him as though nothing had changed. 

Bela stood up and walked over to a sink with a pair of dilapidated cabinets clinging desperately to the wall behind them. The room was so strangely domestic and out of place entirely with Dean's perception of Hell, though a layer of dingy grime lay over every surface to remind him of where he was. The place was sparsely furnished, with a few chairs and the bed he lay in. A barred window looked out into a dark landscape. The night time was darker than Dean had ever remembered night being; he couldn't make out a thing outside the window. Candles littered the room about the floor, flickering weakly with the familiar sickly yellow of the torches in his home circle.  _Home circle,_ Dean thought to himself with a chuckle.  _Now you're calling it home._

"You're lucky it was me. As soon as I saw who it was inside that bunker, I was able to put together a spell to knock them out." Bela pulled a small towel from the cabinet and wet it in the sink. Her voice was flat, almost lifeless. She stepped over to him and reached out with the towel. Dean flinched back and glared.

"You were with Demons. Why the Hell would you jump in to save our hides?" Dean growled.

Bela's hands fell to her lap. Dean expected her to lash out at him, but her face barely changed, as if she didn't even recognize the aggressive tone in Dean's voice. "That's not how things work here, Dean. You can't survive without allies. I happened to ally with the ones who had the best weapons. The Demons here like to hunt. I showed them I could help, and they didn't kill me."

Dean was about to open his mouth to chastise her alliance with Demons, but then stopped. He had been in the center of Hell, torturing for one of the most powerful Demons around. Who was he to judge anymore? His eyes fell to his hands and noticed they were covered in dirt. "What happened?" 

Bela didn't even look at him when she spoke. Her words fell into the air in front of her, as if she didn't care whether Dean heard them or not. "A few of the pack broke off and made their way behind your bunker. I tried to stall the others while I put something together to get you out. That man with you packs quite a punch, though. I managed an explosion of my own and took out as many as I could, but that guy with you..." She trailed off, her brow knitting together in a furrow. "He was glowing. I don't know what he did, but it was huge."

"He's an Angel," Dean offered.

Finally, Bela showed a reaction. She turned to him with eyes wide and her body tensed up. "Bullshit."

Dean laughed, then his laugh broke off into a cough as he rubbed his sore ribs. "Yeah, that's what I thought at first. Still do sometimes, honestly, but he got me out of the center of Hell all the way to here."

Something in Bela's face changed so that her features softened. "Got you out of the center..."

Dean grimaced. It wasn't something he wanted to talk about. "Yeah. So, you've been here the whole time?"

Bela nodded, her face falling back into impassiveness. Whatever had happened in the decades she had spent down here had not been good to her. "It's not the worst part of Hell, but it certainly isn't the prettiest." Her head tilted, and a cautious curiosity crept into her voice. "This... Angel. Where is he taking you?"

"Out of Hell," Castiel's voice rumbled from the doorway.

Dean's eyes darted to Castiel's face and roamed his body, seeking out any damages. It seemed the Angel had gotten out without a scratch on him. Strangely enough, the realization was met with a large pouring of relief. Again, Dean was struck by his odd feelings towards his companion.  _Why do I care? Caring gets you killed._

Bela's mouth fell open. "Out of Hell? Are you kidding me?"

From the seriousness of Castiel's face, it was quite clear that he wouldn't know how to kid someone even if he were aware that it was a concept. "I would not joke about something like this. Dean must be taken from Hell. He is the righteous man."

At that, Bela laughed darkly. "I don't know about righteous."

Dean glared. "And who are you to talk?"

"I never claimed to be 'righteous' at least," Bela retorted. It seemed some life had twined its way back to her voice. She looked between Castiel and Dean for a few seconds, her eyes searching, and then finally said, "I'm coming with you."

Castiel's eyebrows raised slightly. He looked at Dean, his mouth pinched in a tight line, and seemed to seek out his answer in Dean's face. Dean met his eyes and his train of thought slipped for a moment as he pondered on the intensity of the color there. Bela accompanying them could be a benefit; she knew the layout of the circle they would be trapped in for the next year, and having allies could be good. But Dean knew he couldn't trust her, and who knew what kind of person she had become since the hellhounds had dragged her below? Dean shrugged and said, "Your call, Cas."

Bela pushed her case. "You two need me. You just got here, so your contract won't be up for a year, yeah? I keep renewing mine because I don't want to move to any of the other circles, so I've been here for a long time. I know what I'm doing, and I doubt you two know shit about this place." Her face grew dark for a moment, memories undoubtedly racing behind her eyes. "This is not somewhere you can survive without help."

There was a slight hitch to her voice, and Dean knew there was something more than what she was saying. A dark part of him sprung the idea of using her until they could escape the circle, then leaving her behind. Dean crushed the thought with disgust.  _I'm becoming more like these black-eyed scumbags every day,_ he thought morosely. "I'm down with it if you are. What's your call, Cas?"

Cas' face seemed to purposefully smooth out so not a single emotion was readable in his gaze. His eyes narrowed as they fell on Dean's face, then back to Bela's. Though she still looked drawn and lifeless, her skin drawn taught against sharp bones, her eyes were lit up with a kind of desperation that Dean recognized well. That kind of desperation could lead to someone doing awful things in order to get what they want. 

Castiel nodded. "I believe an ally would be beneficial."

"Welcome aboard, Bela!" Dean said with a smile. He knew Bela was aware of his distrust, but Dean didn't know how far it should reach.  _Who has Bela become since she's been down here?_


End file.
